


Only Teardrops

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Moving On, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things are too broken to be fixed. But sometimes, the broken pieces can be used to build something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Teardrops

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Only Teardrops](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22305) by Emmelie de Forest. 



> I have an unhealthy obsession with the winning song from Eurovision this year, which just so happens to be Denmark's. It was very much the inspiration for this fic, along with my recent obsession with NedDen.
> 
> Past Norway/Denmark, future Netherlands/Denmark.
> 
> Mostly Nation names used, but if I get to a point of using human names, Nikolaj is Denmark and Willem is Netherlands.

_The sky is wet tonight_  
 _We're on the edge tonight_  
 _No shooting star to guide us..._

"No." 

Denmark felt his heart suddenly plummet to his toes at that simple, quiet word from Norway. "What?" 

"I said no," Norway looked cold, his arms folded across his middle and his shoulders hunched. But he met Denmark's eyes squarely, a sign Denmark knew meant he was being serious. He looked paler than normal, cheeks ashen. Though that could have been the lighting; they were standing in the hall after a meeting, the other Nations long since left, drifting and trickling away to their own hotel rooms. The terrible flourescent lighting wasn't helped by the lightning that flickered occasionally through the windows from the storm outside. "We've tried this over and over again, for _hundreds_ of years, and it has never worked out. I can't keep hurting myself like this, or you." He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "It's over for good this time, Danmark." 

"But I love you." Denmark felt a little like he was sinking through dark, icy water, like the time he cracked through the ice on one of Sweden's rivers. 

"I know," Norway bit his lip, and somewhere in the part of him that was still thinking rationally, Denmark was shaken by the blatant show of emotion on his usually stoic lover. Friend. Something. "...And I do love you too, Danmark. But that's not enough." 

"But, Norge, I _love you_." Denmark repeated, as though saying it again would _make_ it be enough. 

Norway lifted a hand, as though he was going to touch Denmark's cheek, run fingers through his hair like he had a hundred times before. But then his hand curled into a fist, and he dropped it to his side. In that moment, Denmark could have sworn that Norway had just closed fingers around his heart and crushed it. It certainly felt that way. 

"I know," he said again, barely above a whisper. He wasn't looking at Denmark anymore, instead staring out at the darkness and the raindrops hitting the window. "But it's time we moved on." Another pause, during which the silence between them stretched out like the night sky, endless and deep and so, so cold. "...I'm sorry." 

Norway turned and left without another word, leaving Denmark standing alone. It was funny, Denmark thought, his eyes were burning, but no matter how much he blinked, the tears refused to fall. He felt like Norway had punched him in the gut (in fact he would have preferred that), but he also felt very, very tired. 

He and Norway had had their rocky patches (and occasionally outright bouldery patches), but they'd always been able to come back together in the end. But the arguments they had were viscious, violent, explosive, like France and England but behind closed doors. They didn't _usually_ come to blows, but they had, now and then. And the things they said to each other when they were angry were bitter and venomous, hissed words that couldn't be taken back. 

The bad times between them were very bad, but the good times were very good. Denmark remembered countless mornings waking up with Norway's graceful arms twined around his neck, soft winter-breath against his neck. Walking with Norway along the fjords or hiking through the woods just because they could, wearing fur cloaks older than time and laughing about times long past. That was what had brought them back together, time after time. 

The past. 

Denmark stood staring out into the rain for a long time, blinking back tears that wouldn't come.


End file.
